


Rising up the ranks.

by TayBartlett9000



Category: The Navy Lark (Radio)
Genre: Dictatorship, Gen, Humour, Wales, anxt, cenior service, royal navy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 20:36:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21042407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TayBartlett9000/pseuds/TayBartlett9000
Summary: CPO Pertwee is in disgrace. While being punished for something he was actually caught doing, he is replaced by Leading Seaman Goldsteine who  attempts to  change several aspects of Able Seaman Johnson's life to his advantage.





	Rising up the ranks.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: I wish to disclose two points here. The first is that I do not know what discipline in the royal navy is like so I had to make something up. I just needed to get Pertwee out of the way for the story to work. I certainly do not wish to be offencive. The second is that I do not wish to offend any Welsh people who may read this. This is in no way meant to reflect real life, real situations or real people. This is just an extreme and ridiculous story made up for fun.

“But it wasn’t my fault, sir.”

Chief Petty officer Pertwee was getting nowhere, fast. He had tried to get out of it. He had made as many excuses as it was possible to make and still, Lieutenant Murray wasn’t buying it. This one was going to be difficult to get out of.

Lieutenant Murray, Number 1 to those who were forced to work with him, was certainly not buying it. “I am sorry chief,” he said dismissively, “I am afraid that we cannot allow this to go unnoticed or unpunished.”

Unpunished? That did not sound good. Pertwee didn’t like being found out or reprimanded, especially by the blokes in the navy. Apparently now though, he was going to receive just that, a serious reprimand. And what was worse was that there was no way of avoiding it.

“So,” Pertwee said in a voice of mounting nervousness, “what are you going to do sir?”

Number 1 didn’t have to think twice. “I’m putting you on two weeks detention,” he informed the chief petty officer in a voice that he couldn’t have made sound more smug if he had wished to. He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smile that was plastered across his features. It was clear to everyone present that Murray was enjoying himself very much indeed.

Pertwee was horrified. “What? You mean I won’t be on duty for two WEEKS? I won’t be able to do mi… work,” he said in shock.

Number 1 nodded. “Precisely,” he said cheerfully, ”you will go to Portsmouth for your term of detention.” A smile that Pertwee could only describe as evil flitted across Number One’s face as he added, “just think. You may run into Commander Povy while you are over there. That should be fun.”

Pertwee nodded mutely. He hadn’t thought of that. “But who will take over the job of chief petty officer for a fortnight?” he demanded angrily.

Number 1’s smile seemed to be several football pitches wide as he replied, “I shall inlist the help of Leading Seaman Goldsteine.” 

If Pertwee had been horrified upon hearing he was receiving detention, he was even more horrified now. Goldsteine, that Welsh no hoper? He could not believe it. Pertwee never usually made a habbit of feeling sorry for people, but standing there as he was now, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for everyone who was going to have to suffer under the tyrannical rule of the wolly from Wales.

When Goldsteine was given the news, he felt as if he had already been made an admiral. For years he had been trying to get the blokes in command to make him a petty officer and now that dream was finally becoming a reality. The fact that he was only going to be playing the role of chief petty officer for a fortnight hadn’t exactly escaped his notice but Goldsteine was looking forward to representing Wales in the navy. Finally, he was going to make some changes around here. He was going to make the English men below him suffer for the years spent taking the mikki out of Goldsteine’s Welsh origins. He was going to make them pay.

“Johnson,” Goldesteine shouted, opening the door to his own cabin and ensuring that everyone around him heard, “Johnson. Get in here.”

Johnson hurried into view. Goldsteine got only the impression of a sulky expression and an air of great unhappiness before Able Seaman Johnson was standing right in front of him. “Yes chief?” he asked, sounding far too resentful for Goldsteine’s liking.

“First of all,” Goldsteine barked, “I don’t like your sulky attitude. Straighten yourself up Johnson. Welshmen do not behave in such a resentful manner.”

Johnson wasn’t happy. In order to make things clearer, he made sure to inform Goldsteine of that very thing. “I’m not happy,” he said miserably, “I am not a Welshman.”

“You are now, mate. Every single able Seaman and Leading Seaman is going to take on the role of Welshmen now. No acceptions.”

“But I don’t want to be a Welshman,” Joynson wined. He heaved a heavy sigh. “You’re rotten you are. You’re stinking rotten.”

“That’ll do Johnson.” 

“But honestly, I am not happy. Not happy at all.”

“Johnson,” Goldsteine warned.

“Not happy,” Johnson continued, apparently heeding nothing of what Goldsteine had said, “I am not happy. You’re rotten. And not just any old rotten. You’re a Welsh rotten. They are more rotten than the rest of the rottens in Britain.”

Goldsteine was starting to lose his patience. “I said that will do Johnson,” he bellowed, “now listen here. I have a large collection of Welsh flags in my cabin, put aside for such occasions as this one. I wish you to collect those flags, place a welsh flag in your cabin and instruct every single able seaman, leading seaman and petty officer to do the same. I’ll transform this unit, so help me I will.”

“But you can’t,” Johnson protested.

Goldsteine glowered at him. “And why not?” he asked indignantly.

“Because you’re not in command here,” Johnson told him stiffly.

“I am now your superior officer,” Goldsteine argued, forgetting the fact that Johnson was probably right.

Johnson frowned. “I know that, but you can’t go around changing things just because you want to. Number One, Mr Philips and everyone else are still above you, you know.”

Goldsteine sighed. Johnson was right. What was worse was that Goldsteine knew that to be true. Johnson’s honesty was starting to anoy him. Goldsteine knew that he had no authority what so ever to make any lasting changes in favour of his oppressed Welsh companions, but he had to try. “Just do as I said, Johnson,” he barked.

“You won’t get away with it.”

“Johnson!” 

Johnson sighed again, wishing that he could be anywhere else but on board this ship in front of Goldsteine. The man had taken just one sip at the glass of power and already he seemed to be of the desire to transform everything in the unit into a small scale moddle of Wales. He was not happy. Johnson was not happy at all.

But what could he do? Johnson could think of nothing he could do and even less that he could say. Goldsteine was his superior officer and Johnson knew that for all his misgivings, he had to obey. “Oh alright,” he grumbled, turning around and making his way towards Goldsteine’s cabin.

Johnson entered Goldsteine’s cabin and lifted up the three foot stack of welsh flags, carrying them out and wondering why on Earth Goldsteine kept these flags lying around. He began making his way directly for his own cabin, muttering mutinous curses all the way. He couldn’t believe that Goldsteine was trying to turn the lower ranks into patriots of Wales. Johnson certainly didn’t support it. He disliked Chiefy Pertwee immensely. The man was a con artist and he bullied Johnson relentlessly, but as he placed the welsh flag upon his cabin door, he began to think that at least Pertwee respected one’s own sense of self.

Hours later, Able Seaman Johnson took a look around the ship. The cabins belonging to Sublieutenant Phillips, Lieutenant Murray and others of a higher rank looked relatively normal. Everything else seemed to reflect the idiologies of a welsh dictator. It was an awful sight to behold and Johnson lowered his eyes, unwilling to look at any of it any more. He wondered what Number One and Mr Phillips would say once they saw what Goldsteine had made him do. 

“Johnson!” bellowed a voice behind him, “turn round and look at me, man. I want to speak to you.”

Johnson sighed and turned around to see the face of Leading Seaman Goldsteine, a face that looked rather ugly to Johnson’s eyes at this moment. “What do you want?” he asked sulkily, wondering what on Earth his new superior was going to do now.

“Silence when you speak to me boy!” Goldsteine thundered, clearly enjoying the privilege in taking over where Pertwee had left off, “silence when you speak to me. Now, are you going to listen without interruptions?”

After a short pause, Johnson nodded reluctantly. 

Goldsteine held out a sheet of paper upon which were lines and lines of neat and regimented hand writing. “These are the new daily rutines and orders for yourself and the rest of the Able Seamen and Leading Seamen,” Goldsteine told him briskly, “please place this somewhere where every man can see it.”

Johnson looked down at the piece of paper that Goldsteine had handed to him. He recognised not one word written upon it and he looked up at Goldsteine in confusion. “What on Earth is this rubbish?” he asked in puzzlement.

“That, my good man are your new orders.”

“But I can’t read a word of them.”

“That is because they are written in Welsh boyo.”

Johnson sighed. He should have guessed. “No one else can read welsh,” he protested.

Goldsteine shrugged. “Well then, you’ll just have to learn the language won’t you,” he said curtly, “it’s not that difficult.” He handed Johnson a thick volume and smiled. “I have even given you a welsh dictionary so that you can translate the orders. Now get to it, man. And tidy up your cabin, inspection in fifteen minutes.”

Johnson tried again. “You won’t get away with it. What do you think will happen when Number One sees all of this?”

Goldsteeine glared at Johnson. The man was right, again. But he ignored him and merely repeated his orders. “Just get it done, Johnson.” 

And with that, Johnson’s new superior marched away, whistling a tune that Johnson had never heard before and disappearing out of sight.

In his cabin, Johnson sat on his bed with his head in his hands. Goldsteine had been his superior for less than a day and already things were going to pot. Johnson wondered where Chiefy Pertwee was and what he was doing. Johnson hated to admit it, but he missed the Chief. Pertwee was a constant thorn in Johnson’s side and yet compared with the tyranicl rulings of Goldsteine, Pertwee was a figure of kindness and benevolence. Johnson was surprised to find out that such a thing was even possible. Pertwee would no doubt remind Johnson of such thoughts every day of his life if Johnson dared to tell him, but Johnson knew how to keep thoughts to himself.

What would the rest of Goldsteine’s time as Pertwee’s replacement bring? Would the ranks below him be expected to forget English as a language and converse only in welsh? Would they all have to learn the Welsh national anthom. Johnson’s memory was awful and his language skkills were even worse. Johnson hoped not. He had a sneaking suspicion however that said sinario would probably be on the cards, at least, if Number One didn’t put Goldsteine in his place pretty bloody quickly. Goldsteine had always tried his upmost to bring Wales and everything about it into life on board ship and now that Pertwee was safely out of Goldsteine’s way for a couple of weeks, the man could do as he liked, within reason. Johnson could only hope and pray that Lieutenant Murray did not sanction such treatment of Johnson and his fellows. He was sure that Murray would not. He had always tried his best to keep Pertwee in line, difficult though it was at the best of times. Johnson was sure that Goldsteine would be unable to maintain his hold on the people whom he was in charge of. Number one would keep him in line. Johnson had a feeling that Goldsteine would be an easier man to control than Chiefy Pertwee was. He certainly hoped so. Johnson did not want to become a naturalised Welshman. If he had wanted to become a naturalised Welshman, he would have set up home in WALES. But he had not, so he would not. He was not happy and if things continued down the same path, Johnson would do more than state his unhappiness to his new superior officer. Goldsteine would get what was coming to him. Johnson couldn’t wait until Pertwee returned. Though he hated to admit it, he was forced to think of what a happy day that would be.


End file.
